


(A Wish for) Endless Winter

by MykEsprit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coworkers - Freeform, F/M, Light chokeplay, Smut, inspired by “Baby It’s Cold Outside”, partners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 16:09:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17328233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MykEsprit/pseuds/MykEsprit
Summary: Harry knew he really couldn’t stay. Or, at least, he shouldn’t. Inspired by “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” Written for Smutty Claus 2018.





	(A Wish for) Endless Winter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [articcat621](https://archiveofourown.org/users/articcat621/gifts).



> Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling.
> 
> Written for articcat621 for Smutty Claus. Thanks for the fun prompt! I hope you had a happy holidays! Thanks to the mods for putting this fest together!

The window shuddered, taking the brunt of the wind’s assault on the tiny cottage. The storm had been raging for hours. A pile of wet snow grew on the sill. Beyond the light pouring out of the windows, icicles adorned the surrounding trees.

 

He bit the insides of his cheeks, lamenting that he stayed as long as he did. There was much work that needed to be done—but nothing that couldn’t have waited until they got back to the office on Monday. _She_ , however, insisted that they find the solution to the Solona case as soon as possible, and _he_ …well, it’s been a while since he could deny Hermione Granger anything.

 

Still, he should have known better. “I really can’t stay,” he murmured.

 

On the glass, her reflection appeared next to his faint image. “But, Harry, it’s so cold outside,” she said, rubbing her upper arms as the cold seeped in through the windowsill. “Stay. At least until this storm passes.”

 

His eyes shifted to the fireplace, where logs crackled from the blaze.

 

Hermione sighed. “I know. I should have gotten the Floo connected as soon as I moved in.” Without looking, Harry knew there was a wry smile on her lips.

 

He tutted, shaking his head slowly. “How irresponsible,” he teased. “You’ve lived in this cottage for five whole days—”

 

“Four.”

 

“—and not everything is in place?” Harry waved to the few boxes left unpacked in the corner of the living room. They were filled with old textbooks—he knew that because he put the boxes there himself when he helped her move. “Your things are still unpacked; the previous owner’s anti-Apparition wards have yet to be dismantled. You’re really losing your touch, Hermione.” 

 

“My apologies.” Her bright brown eyes danced with amusement. “I would have everything in place by now if my new partner wasn’t riding my arse so hard.”

 

A vision flashed through his mind—Hermione on her hands and knees, her bare skin golden from the firelight. His fingers digging into the firm flesh of her arse as he thrust into her from behind.

 

His fists clenched at his sides.

 

“Are you all right?”

 

Hermione stepped closer. Her gaze flitted over him, assessing. Her warm vanilla fragrance wafted gently from the base of her neck as she leaned closer.

 

His tongue darted over his bottom lip, eager to see if she tasted as delicious as she smelled.

 

“Harry?” Her voice grew alarmed.

 

Harry schooled his features even as heat grew under his collar at her proximity. “I’m just…I need to,”—get the fuck out of here, he wanted to say—“get back home.” 

 

Not that there was anything waiting for him at Grimmauld Place. An Auror’s job was never done, even years after Voldemort’s fall and the last of the Death Eaters rounded up and sent to Azkaban. Work filled the void in his life. Where there used to be a romantic relationship, a healthy social life, and a good nights’ sleep, there were now mounds of paperwork, middle management responsibilities, and Hermione Granger.

 

Of the three, it was thoughts of Hermione that kept him up most nights—his best friend, new partner, and the woman who’d snagged the starring role in his fantasies for years.

 

The woman who was brushing the stray hair off his forehead, her fingertips grazing his lightning scar. “Harry.” She came even closer; her cashmere jumper skimmed against his torso. “The edge of the wards is two kilometers out. It’s too dangerous for you to walk outside in this weather.”

 

He glanced out of the window futilely. Heavy snow continued to pelt the glass. “What if this storm doesn’t let up?”

 

“Then you stay for the night.” A smile tugged at her lips. “And we can go back to work as soon as we wake up in the morning.”

 

“For Merlin’s sake, woman,” he grumbled, “haven’t you ever heard of the concept of ‘the weekend?’”

 

“Of course, I have.” She grabbed his arm and tugged him in the direction of the spare bedroom. “That’s the special time between Friday and Monday when one can get ahead on work!”

* * *

Harry pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on top of the dresser. He didn’t have any spare clothes to use, and he was damned if he was going to sleep in the ones he’d worn all day. As he unbuttoned his jeans, a sharp gasp from the doorway made him jump.

 

“Oh!” Hermione stood in the doorway with her hand over her heart. She wore a thin dressing gown that hung mid-thigh, undone and gaping open. Underneath was a white cotton tank top and shorts that revealed shapely legs. “Sorry,” she murmured. Her gaze pulled up his body and met his eyes with an astonished look. “I was just…making sure you’re comfortable. Before I go to bed.”

 

His muscles tensed at the thought of her lying in bed in the next room nestled under the covers. Imagined the warmth of her body and those long legs wrapped around his waist.

 

“I’m fine,” he snapped. Then, much more gently, “I’m sorry. I’m just…knackered.” He raked his fingers through his hair and blew out a sharp breath.

 

Hermione shook her head and laughed quietly at some private joke. She crossed the small bedroom and took out a stack of sheets and a blanket from the wardrobe. “Here,” she said. “Let me just change the bedding. The one on the bed is far too thin for such a cold night.”

 

She took the sheets off the bed quickly. He leaned against the opposite wall, watching her flutter around. As she put on the new fitted sheet, she climbed the mattress and crawled to the headboard. The position caused her short dressing gown to ride up, pulling the edges of her shorts with it. Her movements exposed skin where the tops of her thighs met the curve of her arse. The more she moved, tugging and pulling at the stubborn bedsheet, the more skin was bared to him, millimeter by millimeter—

 

The growl escaped his throat before he could keep it in check.

 

She glanced at him over her shoulder and frowned. “Are you all right, Harry?”

 

With a huff, he kicked off the wall and marched to the edge of the bed. “I’ll be fine. Why don’t I take care of this,”—he yanked the bunched sheets from her hand—“so you can get some rest? Like you said, plenty to do in the morning.”

 

“Don’t be silly, Harry.” She tugged the sheets from his grasp. “I’m the host, and you’re the guest. Let me take care of this so you can—”

 

He clasped the fabric and snatched it back. “Hermione, really, you don’t need to be inconvenienced—” The sheets were rapidly wrenched from him.

 

“It’s not an inconvenience at all, Harry—” She pulled.

 

“Hermione, please—” He hauled.

 

“Harry—" She yanked too hard, pulling him towards her.

 

He lost his balance, and they landed on a heap on the mattress with her pinned underneath him. She tilted her head back and laughed at their predicament.

 

He, on the other hand, was not as amused. Between her earlier inadvertent display and the way her body quivered under him as she laughed, parts of his body were—well—

 

“Harry!” Hermione gasped. Mirth drained from her face, replaced by shock.

 

“ _Fuck_.” He scrambled to get up on his knees.

 

Her legs wrapped around his hips, locking him in place. His gaze bore into hers, finding other things beneath the initial shock. Curiosity. Courage.

 

And heat—so intense, like he stood next to an open flame.

 

For a moment, they were fixed like statues.

 

“Har—”

 

He swooped down and kissed her. She murmured his name against his lips; the vibrations caused pleasure to shoot straight to his groin. Without thinking, he rubbed his hardness against her. The zipper of his jeans felt rough against his member—a good kind of rough.

 

From the way Hermione’s moans escalated, she also enjoyed the coarse fabric against her heat. “Harry,” she whispered

 

His name on her lips—in that tone, so full of wanting—made him pull back, his gaze raking over her bright eyes and flushed cheeks. “Hermione—”

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Harry!” She threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled him down. 

 

Then, there were no words. Their tongues and teeth were too busy sampling each other’s skin, tasting and testing the bounds between pleasure and pain. 

 

He pushed the dressing gown off her shoulders and down her arms; peeled her out of the thin tank top; glided the band of her shorts and knickers over her hips and down her legs. His lips trailed kisses at each inch of exposed skin.

 

When she was divested of all clothing, he sat back on his heels. Bronze curls fanned around her head. Her eyes were closed; her lips slightly parted. The pulse at the base of her neck bounded and raced. Her breasts were pink-tipped mounds that fit perfectly in his hands. His gaze brushed the soft planes of her belly and rounded hips. He placed his palms on her knees, easing her legs apart and exposing her smooth cunt.

 

Never, in all those nights imagining her, had she ever looked so perfect.

 

He said something along those lines, and her eyes flashed in response. “You can’t tell me things like that, Harry Potter,” she growled, “and then just sit there and stare at me.” 

 

She slid his zipper down. Her toes hooked over his waistband, and she nudged his jeans down with her dexterous feet. For an instant, he was flooded with ideas on how to capitalize on this newly-discovered talent of hers—then his member sprung out from his boxers, and he stopped thinking altogether.

 

With one hand gripping his shaft, he rubbed his broad head against her wet folds. She spread her legs even further as she moaned urgently.

 

He positioned himself over her body, his member poised at her entrance. He waited until her eyes blinked open, revealing brown eyes glazed with desire.

 

Her swollen lips parted. “Harry,” she whispered again.

 

Without breaking eye contact, he pushed into her, easing in as her snug walls hugged him. When he was fully buried in her, Harry bent down and grazed his lips against hers. “Gods, Hermione.” His fingers plunged into her curls.

 

She dug her heels into the flesh of his arse, and it was all the invitation he needed. He pulled back and drove into her, again and again. Slowly, at first. Controlled.

 

But as her moans became louder; as her muscles trembled and then quaked; as her heated touch turned into rough scratches up and down his back, his control slipped. He pounded into her, a hard and severe rhythm.

 

His thumb brushed her cheekbone, a promise that the next time would be more tender, loving. His fingers traced over her jaw, down her throat, and curled at the base of her neck, and that was a promise, too—a promise that the time after _that_ would be even rougher.

 

Her limbs wrapped around him tighter, as though accepting her fate. Hermione tossed her head back against the mattress, and then she was lost. 

 

He soon followed, thrusting into her as he rode out his pleasure.

 

After an eternity, he came back down to his body. His face was buried in the crook of her neck. A thin sheen of sweat mingled with her warm vanilla scent. His tongue lapped her skin, and her body shuddered with aftershocks.

 

When he found the strength, he pulled out of her and molded onto the mattress at her side. Hermione was still catching her breath. His hand skimmed over her body at a leisurely pace, committing it to memory.

 

“Harry.”

 

“Hmm-hmm.”

 

“When…again?” she mumbled.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“When do it again?” she clarified.

 

A part of him rejoiced at the idea that he, Harry Potter, had rendered the clever Hermione Granger incoherent. A larger and more urgent part of him, however, was already seeking to drive more words out of her wide vocabulary.

 

“Soon.”

 

“Good.” She faced him, giving him a lazy smile. “Me on top next. And then you from behind.”

 

“Hmm.” A satisfied grin tugged on his lips.

 

“And then…” Hermione snuggled closer.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Then we get back to work.”

 

Harry groaned. “I liked it better when you were making us a sex itinerary.”

 

Hermione laughed. “Well, as long as that storm sticks around, you’re stuck here,” she said, cradling his cheek in her palm. “We might have a busy weekend ahead of us. Full schedule.”

 

Harry glanced out the window to the growing layer of snow against the glass and wished with all his heart that winter would never end.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments/Kudos are appreciated!


End file.
